


Chill

by Thleeny



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2014-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-13 01:09:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1207225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thleeny/pseuds/Thleeny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's cold. Not in a romantic, wintery, lovely kind of way; in a numbing, awful, I-may-soon-die way. Garak is, naturally, not pleased.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chill

The heating was out.

Of course the heating was out. Why  _wouldn’t_  the heating be out? Everything on this pathetic little station conspired to make Garak as miserable as possible; it only stood to reason it had finally realized what would annoy him the most. And not  _only_  had the heating decided to stop working entirely, but had somehow engineered itself to stop working for  _at least_  the next three days, according to the good chief.

But again:  _of course it had,_  and Garak had commented as such when Bashier told him. Of course it had, because this bloody station was  _determined,_  one way or another, to do him in.

He was vaguely aware he was being self-pitying, but, miserably huddled beneath four layers of blankets, Garak decided he was allowed to be so. In addition to his makeshift cocoon, he had donned nearly every article of clothing he owned. Armed with a datapad full of literature, he’d passed the first few hours not feeling warm so much as  _slightly less cold,_ which was no real improvement at all. Coupled with the fact that the fellow he was reading (Thoreau, on Bashier’s recommendation) was a rather pompous twit, and Garak’s mood was poor indeed.

It was approaching twenty-two hundred hours, he saw, and sighed. Working at his shop was out of the question— it was too cold for the mammals to wander about, never mind _him_ — but he rather missed the distraction it provided. He’d never done well with idle free time.

The door chirped. Garak ignored it. Presumably it was Bashier, come to see if he’d actually succumbed to hypothermia. Well, he certainly would if he ventured out of his cocoon, heavens only knew.

It chirped again. A brief respite— and then it chirped repeatedly, over and over, as Ziyal’s sweet voice sounded in his room. “Garak, for goodness’ sake, I’m going to freeze if you don’t open the door!”

 _Ah_. He gave himself a brief moment of hesitation— perhaps it would be better to pretend he wasn’t at home? That he had been asleep? No, no, no, neither of those would work, presumably she knew he was there (where else would he be?) and would simply keep ringing until he answered,  _damn_  her, this was not going end well no matter what she wanted (and he had a very good idea of what she wanted, dear, dear).

Scrambling out from under his mound of blankets, he had the brief regret that he more resembled a marshmallow than anything close to the suave and interesting figure of a man she obviously thought he was. Ah, well. She would understand; she likely looked the same. With a little exhale, he opened the door.

Two narrowed eyes, flanked by familiar warm grey skin, peered up at him. The rest of Ziyal was lost in a bundle of multi-colored scarves and hats and—  _goodness_ — layers upon layers of shirts and coats, each obviously yanked on in haste. She looked so utterly miserable and annoyed and ridiculous all at once that Garak couldn’t help the bark of laughter that escaped him. “Not doing well in our current temperature, my dear?”

"Not at all," she replied, and slipped past him, shivering as she did. Without a moment’s hesitation she made her way toward his bed and slipped beneath the covers, curling neatly under them as if she belonged there. When Garak didn’t make a move— she honestly couldn’t expect he  _would_ , after all, could she?— her clipped voice once again floated towards him.

"I’m not leaving this open forever, you know. And it’s letting in the chill the more I do."

"You realize," he replied, and finally started towards her, "that this is  _not_  going to happen.”

"I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about."

"I’m  _not_  going to crawl into bed with you, my dear. Kisses are one thing, but this— it’s bad enough Major Kira is already convinced I’m out to corrupt you in some dastardly fashion, never mind—”

"Who said anything about  _that_?” Ziyal’s head emerged. She had abandoned her hat; her black hair was loose, mussed and tumbling around her face in the most  _attractive_  fashion (not that he was looking). Unamused, she raised a ridge at him. “Honestly, Garak. All I’m proposing is that we share body heat. Completely clothed— really, we’ve never had more layers between us. We’re the only two Cardassians on here; at best we’re going to escape with frostbite alone if we stay apart. And I don’t know about you, but I quite  _like_ not having frostbite.”

She met his gaze, her frank stare combating his rather skeptical one for a long few seconds. But— well, she had a point. It wasn’t as if the shared body heat would be unwelcome, and not to mention getting to press against Ziyal— and she wasn’t a child, really, she knew what she was doing, it wasn’t as if he was tricking her into this—

"Besides," she added, as if she could read his wavering reluctance, "I came all this way. Are you really going to send me back into the cold?" 

Oh, that was  _low_. She even widened her eyes at him, as if that might work. He gave her a flat look, letting her know that she wasn’t fooling anyone— except him, clearly, because with a sigh that wasn’t nearly as reluctant as it seemed, Garak made his way into his bed.

Ziyal was waiting for him; the moment he drew the covers back over them both, she curled against him, moving so smoothly it was as if they’d done this a hundred times before. Her body fit quite snugly against his, one of her legs slipping between his, her head tucked beneath his chin. He could feel her breath against his throat, warm and sweet.

"Much better," she murmured. He drew his arms around her, tugging her close, and absolutely did not admit that she was right.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for ds9tumblzine over on tumblr!


End file.
